


Of vanity and virtuousness

by DeVereWinterton



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Episode: s03e07 Game Set & Murder, F/M, It's just a bit of fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 13:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13236402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: Dot overhears something she probably was not supposed to. Set right after Game, Set & Murder.(This is just an excuse for me to write this kind of story.)





	Of vanity and virtuousness

**Author's Note:**

> I love the look on Phryne’s face when Jack pins the swallow brooch onto her ensemble. No eye-contact, she just looks at him briefly but with such adoration and amazement and I love those few seconds that define yet another part of their relationship.  
> Basically, the brooch needs some more loving. Yeah, I got nothing (except a NYE hangover).  
> -DVW

_‘Blushing is the color of virtue.’_

― Diogenes of Sinope

  
Dot closed the kitchen door behind her as she entered Wardlow around 5.30 PM after a nice, short walk around the neighbourhood, feeling remarkably refreshed. Putting away her hat, coat and gloves she figured she had just about enough time to make a nice cup of tea for herself and Miss Fisher before she would get started on dinner. It was Mr. Butler’s night off and Jane was spending the week with a friend and her family near the coast. She was all alone tonight, as Inspector Robinson would come and pick up Miss Fisher around six.

Maybe she could ask Cec and Bert to drop her off at City South Police Station later on tonight, to keep Hugh company during his shift. He was sure to be alone as well, and maybe she could assist him in finishing up the loose ends on the Roswell-case.The Inspector was taking Miss Phryne out to dinner, so surely Hugh wouldn’t mind the company. 

She had to admit; the Inspector had surprised her by asking her Miss out. Dot was aware of their occasional drinks after they’d solved a case, and she surmised it was all right to celebrate these victories. Sometimes, when they were working on solving a crime, he would come over to the house for dinner.

This, however, was the first time that they were going _out_ for dinner after solving a case together, and it was the first time he’d ever asked Miss Phryne out in general. It was a date. Dot wasn’t entirely sure what this meant in terms of their working-relationship, exactly, but she knew the two detectives had grown rather...close.

She was very fond of the Detective Inspector, though. He was kind, hardworking, took his job seriously, treated Miss Phryne (as well as all women) as an equal and had a proper moral centre. And for as long as she’d known the Inspector, he had never put so much as a toe out of line. Well, hardly ever, if you discounted his one minor misstep which had caused him to spend the night in Miss Phryne’s bedroom. She’d found her employer sound asleep in the guest bedroom the following morning, which had confused her slightly. Not that she’d meant to assume anything, of course!

She still wasn’t exactly sure what had occurred that night, but she had quickly decided that it was none of her business anyway.

She had been curious though.

The Inspector was a proper gentleman who treated her employer with the utmost respect. Dot may have been virtuous and rather inexperienced when it came to relationships or men, but she wasn’t a fool. Nor was she blind. The Inspector cared for her Miss, and unless she had misinterpreted all of the little signs (and there had been quite a lot, even though she always pretended not to notice), she was fairly certain Miss Phryne cared for the dour Detective, as well.

Maybe more than ‘cared’...but that was about as far as she would allow her mind to wander as she already felt she was overstepping the mark. 

She knew Miss Phryne was...anxious about dinner with the Inspector. Possibly even nervous, as she had tried on almost every dress she owned, nearly driving Dot to distraction. This one had been too frivolous, that one had been too demure, the next one had simply been deemed too ‘Ugh!’. She knew her Miss had once told her a woman should dress first and foremost for herself, but she had a nagging suspicion something else was going on here.

As her employer had taken a nice long soak in the bathtub after her tennis match, Dot had set about putting all of the scattered dresses away, placing them back on their respective hangers and hanging them up in the wardrobe before leaving Miss to tend to her ablutions. She’d insisted on getting dressed herself, and if Dot were just a tad bit honest; she was rather glad for it. She was just about due for some fresh air.

Miss Phryne’s jumpy behaviour had been starting to make _her_ nervous.

Taking the kettle off of the stove, she poured the hot water in the teapot, allowing for the tea to brew for a minute or two. Heading for the staircase she decided to go and check on Miss to see if she would, perhaps, require some assistance after all. The Inspector was sure to arrive shortly and Miss Phryne usually didn’t dawdle as much as she did now. Maybe a nice cup of tea could ease her Miss’ mind.

Arriving on the landing, she made her way towards Miss Phryne’s boudoir.

Moving closer to the door, she was about to grab the door handle when the sound of two voices alerted her, stopping her from entering. They were muted because of the wooden door that separated Dot from the occupants of the boudoir, but they were loud enough to be heard, if one listened carefully.

"I'm not sure if I'll be able to get a proper grip, Miss Fisher." A man’s voice, dulcet tones which she immediately recognised as belonging to Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. He’d probably arrived early while she had still been on her evening walk.

"But Jaaack... You always have such a firm, decisive touch. Surely you can manage?"

She recognized Miss Phryne’s voice, although it was rather low and she recognised the slight whine her boss would use to get her way, in any kind of situation. Unfortunately, she’d been forced to listen to that tone of voice more often than she could count, laying in bed and attempting to sleep as her employer ‘entertained’. And _why_ was the Inspector in there with her? The sound of something scraping made her brow furrow as the wheels in her mind began to turn.

"Jack! Please, _do_ be gentle." A gasp, followed by an admonishment.  
  
"I'm not sure I can, Miss Fisher." His voice sounded...strained?

Dot knew she should turn away, that this was probably immoral and indecent (and dear God, what would Father Grogan say?). Listening in on people’s conversations! Surely, this was some kind of sin?

She leaned in closer, a blush adorning her cheeks.

" _Phryne_. Do you _want_ me to move it, or not?" The Inspector sounded irritated, which she found somewhat odd.  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
"Any preferences?"  
  
"Well, just try a gentle push, then carefully pull it back out before sliding it back in place." Another thud, followed by more of that scraping.

It suddenly dawned on her that her listening in on other people might not be the greatest sin that was currently being committed. Cradling her face in her own hands, trying to cool down as she tried to make sense of it all, pacing in front of the door.

Dear _God_ , Father in Heaven, how was she going to face the Inspector after all of this? She’d always thought of him as respectable, as a highly esteemed officer of the law. Yes, he was a divorced man but she figured that could happen to even the best of marriages, or people. Dorothy didn’t exactly _approve_ of the concept of divorce, but she had noticed the Inspector had been in far higher spirits after it had come through. And now here he was...in the bedroom of her employer, and she _really_ ought to be heading downstairs.

But her wedding night was coming up and even though she was loathe to admit it, she was somewhat... _curious_. She had been mortified when she’d first come to work for Miss Fisher, realising the Lady’s morals when it came to matters of marriage and the boudoir. But now, after years of encountering several gentleman visitors and having been exposed to some rather interesting noises, listening to some of Miss Phryne’s stories...

"Oooh, yes Jack! Like that! Do that again!" Miss Phryne sounded excited, almost as if she were out of breath and Dot could only imagine why. She cringed.  
  
"Like this?" A low rumble, then the scraping sound again, of what Dot now assumed to be a large piece of furniture. She couldn’t bear to imagine exactly what piece of furniture it might be.  
  
" _Mmm_." A sound of approval.  
  
"It's a bit of a tight fit."  
  
"Yes, but don't worry, it has always fit before so it will now."  
  
Dot’s eyes widened as she stood, riveted to the spot. She felt in no way excited, nor aroused, just inexplicably intrigued and slightly revolted at the same time. She figured this must be why people loved to watch spook tales at the cinema; knowing they were going to happen upon something that would frighten, possibly horrify them, yet remaining seated, unable to resist the temptation of knowing, of seeing it with their own eyes.

Dot’s ears would have to make do, as she was sure she would have fainted if she’d been a visual witness to the current goings-on behind this door.

And a tight fit? Whatever did that mean?

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh dear Lord, now she was thinking about the Inspector’s... _bits_. She covered her eyes with her hands, before realising the image was actually inside of her head and not even a firm shake was going to get it out of there.

"Maybe we need some lubricant?" Whatever would he need _that_ for?  
  
"Possibly, although I've never had this problem before."  
  
"So now it’s _my_ fault?”

His question, laced with mock insult and indignity, was met with silence and Dot could just imagine Miss Phryne’s amused expression, confirming his suspicion. 

“What if I just give it a strong push..." Another shove, quite forcefully this time.

Dot gasped as she realised exactly why the Inspector might need a lubricant. She’d spoken to Dr. Macmillan recently (after she’d been driven to the hospital under false pretences by Miss Phryne), who’d patiently explained the workings of...sex (she blushed) to her in order to prepare her for her wedding night. She liked Dr. Mac, as she’d been rather clinical about the whole matter, avoiding lewd terminology and keeping it strictly scientific. She loved Miss Phryne, she really did, it’s just that she feared her description of the male anatomy would be far too colourful of a picture, more than she could handle. The doctor had told Dot that sometimes, if a woman was not ‘prepared’ enough or if a man was particularly ‘blessed’, couples could make use of something to make the ‘initial entrance’ less painful and more--  
  
" _Ah_ , Jack! Careful!"  
  
Muffling a horrified squeak with both hands, Dot turned away from the door and rushed downstairs, nearly tripping over a rug. She would make herself a nice, calming cup of tea, take another long, _long_ walk and never think (or speak!) of this ever again.

* * *

 

"Ah, lovely, there you go!" She kissed him on the cheek, a bold move that surprised him, her lips lingering just a tad too long for it to be an innocent peck. "Thank you, Jack.” A low murmur in his ear, teasing him, before stepping back, their chests close to touching. “Although I'm not entirely in agreement when it comes to your unorthodox, rough methods when handling antique furniture..."  
  
She cupped his left cheek in her right hand, taking in his flabbergasted expression, gently removing the traces of her red lipstick with her thumb. His skin was smooth, save for the slight stubble that was coming through.  
  
"Well, it got the job done, didn't it?" he asked her in a warm, husky voice all the while raising his eyebrow at her.

The things that voice did to her...

She dropped her hands to the lapels of his jacket, toying with them as she was wont to do with the lapels of his overcoat, before tugging him towards her, their chests brushing together. His slight intake of breath made her breasts ache.  
  
"That it did, Jack." She turned away and quickly located the necklace that had caused the drawer of her beloved vanity to jam (and grateful that it was all still in one piece after Jack’s rough manhandling), then retrieved the swallow brooch from the drawer. Briefly eyeing his ‘Buffalo Bill’ badge that she'd placed next to it just this afternoon, smiling fondly at the fresh memory; the way he’d pinned it to her white tennis-dress with the same amount of care as he’d done with the brooch, the way he’d looked at her with such reverence and adoration, the fact that he’d given her something of his... Absentmindedly stroking the brooch once with her thumb before turning to face the mirror. She could feel Jack's eyes on her in the reflection as she pinned the brooch to her beaded, navy blue dress, above the swell of her breast, close to her heart.  
  
Their eyes met in the mirror and for a brief moment, they simply gazed at one another, lovingly, longingly. His eyes bore into hers, a pleasant tingle spreading through her body until the moment became too heated and he coughed, clearing his throat gruffly before shyly lowering his eyes.  
  
She turned around to face him, smiling as she closed the drawer with a small, playful nudge of her behind. He pretended not to take in the womanly, subtle curves of her hips and she smirked knowingly. He thought she looked ravishingly beautiful. She always did, but this time she looked ravishingly beautiful for _him_ , wearing the brooch he'd given her.

She’d kept the brooch and she’d kept his badge and his heart filled with something akin to hope. Tonight, she was going out to dinner with him. It had been a bold move on his part, and he still wasn’t entirely certain wherever he’d plucked up the courage to ask her, but there had been no hesitation in her immediate answer. He’d felt so light-hearted and carefree during their tennis match, and the way she’d laughed out loud at her small victory...

His heart fluttered in his chest.  
  
Although his face remained mostly impassive - save for the ghost of a smile - his eyes were sparkling (an expression of his she'd come to know as his state of utter contentment).

Linking her arm with his, she beamed up at him, her red lips smiling, her eyes more serious as she next addressed him.  
  
" _Now_ we can go."


End file.
